Sept 2016 Drabble
by Big Bad Wolfy
Summary: Only five prompts this time. I wrote for all but the fourth prompt. Word limit 400 and drabbles are based off of images. The theme was war; all but one image had secondary fantasy theme going on for them. Nothing explicit here, all SFW stuff.


My response for prompt 4 was a sketch. I'll include a link for the image later.

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1

She heard the buzzing drone as they flew overhead. She didn't need to look up to confirm that they were American planes, full of arrogant American pilots. She scoffed as she hung the sheets on the clothes line. She was grateful for their presence but she didn't feel the need to acknowledge their showing off.

Bulma pinned the corner of the last sheet to the line and then tucked a stray blue hair behind her ear. As she hiked the empty wicker basket on her hip the sharp, rapid cracks of gun fire ripped through the quiet of the afternoon. She spun around to see a plane falling out of the sky, barreling out of control and engulfed in flames. It whined as it rocketed for the copse of trees at the edge of the farm, smoke trailing from it like a black ribbon.

She clutched at her chest, waiting for the pilot's parachute to bloom out of the blue.

"Where? Where is it?"

Above the rest of the American planes took off in pursuit of their attackers. The gun fire grew distant as they looped and rolled and disappeared into the clouds.

At the last minute the dome top on the plane popped loose and a man was ejected from the cockpit, his white chute exploding open and billowing out like giant white flower, but it seemed too late as he crashed into the tree tops too hard.

Bulma dropped the basket and ran for the stand of trees at the edge of her father's property, not stopping until she finally crashed past the thick shrubbery amassed under the shade.

Gasping for breath, she frantically searched for signs of life in brush.

"Hello?" She called out in English, "Can you hear me?"

No answer.

Just beyond a large tree lay a freshly broken branch. She ran for it. They he laid, leaves and small twigs in his jet black hair, and uniform torn and blood soaked. They he lay, unmoving. Bulma leaned down; laid her head on his chest. He was still breathing! The adrenaline that powered her frantic mad dash had run empty and she sunk to her knees in exhaustion and relief. And there he laid, alive.

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2

She followed him down the dark palace halls, their footsteps echoing off the high walls. His red cape billowed with his fevered pace, as did her own cloak as she tried to keep up with him. She kept her eyes trained on wide, powerful shoulders rather than the dimly lit paintings and elaborate tapestries that hung from the cave like walls.

She didn't dare take her attention off the beast they called the Reaper. While she was an adept fighter in her own right she knew she didn't stand a chance against a true powerhouse like the dark Prince of Saiyans. That's why she was here though. It was far better to strike a deal with the devil himself rather than have him as an enemy.

At the end of the hall he pushed past a pair of heavy wood doors, paying no mind to the heavily armored Saiyan guards on either side, and neither did they move nor even glance at their Prince. Too afraid to be left behind she could not spare a second look to see if the guards were real or just carved statues like the multitudes they passed down the hall.

The heavy doors slammed behind her, the boom reverberated off the high ceiling of the cavernous hall. She followed him to the head of a long table lined with chairs, where he then took a seat without offering her to do the same. She bit back her ire at his detachment. She reined in her impatience as he continued to sit there in silence. And she hid her balled fists under her cloak when a server came out from the darkness from a hidden door, bearing two glasses and a bottle wine.

Deep red liquid, thick like velvet poured from bottle to glass, pouring out like patience poured out of her.

The dark prince sipped, never acknowledging her. He set his glass down and just before Bulma was ready to shoot off about wasting time he finally spoke.

"Now, tell me," his voice, like a cool, creek over gravel, "Why did you find it necessary to kill two of my guards in order to see me?"

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3

The Saiyan palace was carved out of the mountains many generations ago by their ancestors who had been more beast than man. Over the years each subsequent generation added another wing, another spire and it grew out spreading halls into the mountain and into the earth like a tree spreading its roots. As his people became more advanced the crude cave like tunnels and towers were refined, and elaborately decorated with tapestries, paintings and sculpture gained in both trade and plunder. Only a scant few items created by the bellicose Saiyans graced the place, all of them recent creations, as the arts weren't encouraged nor often pursued beyond way to stave off boredom during injury. Saiyan works were garish in their celebration of violence and bloodshed. One particular artist was well known for using the blood of his enemies in his paintings.

The young prince rolled his eyes at the thought of a warrior painting. His history tutor droned on about the palace, mentioning the recent addition of the new high tech science wing and how it would bring great advances to the Saiyan Empire.

"And as part of our esteemed King's embracing of this new era we have brought the greatest scientific minds from our ally planet Earth. Many have brought with them their families, including a new student I'd like to introduce today."

Vegeta returned his attention to the tutor as the old, pale alien opened the door.

A small girl, Saiyan in looks except for blue hair, blue eyes and no tail stepped in.

"This is Bulma," the tutor announced, "She will be joining us from now on."

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4 (Sketch)

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5

Vegeta held his doubts about the battle prowess the blue haired woman claimed to have. She was not built like a Saiyan woman. Rather than being composed of rigid muscle the blue-haired woman was soft and curvy under her cloak. Where a Saiyan female had angles and spikes for face and hair the sylph-like Bulma was delicate in features and her blue hair flowed like water as wind blew through it. They stood at the edge of her home Kingdom surrounded by his Saiyan warriors. Just over the next hill was the enemy that had wiped out most of her father's men.

"You still haven't told me how you managed to kill two perfectly fine Saiyan warriors."

Bulma never took her eyes of the horizon. "And yet you agreed to help me anyway?"

"The promise of new land and riches was enough."

"An alliance is what we agreed upon," she said, stern and unyielding.

"What's to stop me from taking everything once the battle has been won?"

"Me," Bulma stated, simply as she turned to look him in the eye.

He did not flinch, he did not balk, but he could see a fire burning bright blue in her gaze. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it. Literally, blue flames glowing with something he had never seen before. He was familiar enough with otherworldly powers. Under a full moon he and his men became great beasts 10 times more powerful than they already were, but could the rumors be true? Were there really users of powerful, palpable magic? He felt something more emanating from her, leaving him with a strange disquiet.

He closed his eyes, and smirked. "We shall see, woman."


End file.
